


Sacriliege

by gaebolg



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Throne Sex, when you tempt Aymeric to a breaking point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 07:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19204963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaebolg/pseuds/gaebolg
Summary: Inwardly he knows these base desires are indeed selfish, but the way those sapphire eyes stare at him with that burning intensity is proof they are both willing to indulge in that selfishness.





	Sacriliege

It’s probably beyond foolish to be doing this. There’s only a sliver of hesitation as he moves into the vast entry-way of the church, crossing the dimly lit corridor to the main sanctum.

  
Many things have changed since the revolution in Ishgard. The falsities that once were a pillar of belief became something different, and although Aymeric hadn’t become king, he still seemed like one in Cyril’s mind.

  
That’s what started all this. Passing conversations and hints eventually led him to breaking, muttering something to Aymeric on the way out of his private study one evening. Really he couldn’t help himself. They’d been dancing around this attraction for so long, it was only a matter of time before one of them caved.

  
‘ _Don’t_ _hold_ _back_.’

  
Strolling into the main part of the church so casually seems to heighten his anticipation. The moment the doors close with a prominent echo, it affirms how alone they are. Setting his sights on the throne, he hones in on the knight already seated there in waiting.

  
“You’ve truly outdone yourself with this request. However, I suppose it’s a small repayment to the savior of the realm.”

  
A low laugh emits from the warrior. Often he’s carried out deeds without a want or need for recognition much less reward. Although seeing Aymeric sitting there now solely for him might very well start up a habit of wanting.

  
“It’s a request that suits your needs as well, so I consider it to be more thoughtful than selfish.”

  
Cyril tucks a strand of wavy, silver hair behind his ear while approaching closer. Inwardly he knows these base desires are indeed selfish, but the way those sapphire eyes stare at him with that burning intensity is proof they both are willing to indulge in this selfishness.

  
Climbing up the steps to stand before Aymeric, there’s only a brief pause as the recognition settles in. A rustle of clothing follows in the silence as Cyril shamelessly begins to shed his clothing. A beautiful jacket decorated with metal engravings and matching attire fall to the ground in a seamless heap. Aymeric watches with fascination, unable to look away for a second at the expanse of pale skin revealed to him.

  
“ _Sacrilege_.” It’s the lone word that Aymeric breathes mostly to himself as if to confirm this is real. Somewhere in the back of his mind reason tells him that this shouldn’t be happening, but somehow the knowledge of that makes him greedy. He wants the forbidden.

Having shed most of his clothing aside from this black undershirt and slacks leaves his hands bare to the touch, and they’re shaking as he reaches out to finally caress his warrior, drawing that sculpted perfection closer.

  
When his fingers dip down the lower part of Cyril’s back, working their way to his ass, there’s a trail of slickness already present there, growing more evident the closer he gets to fingering his hole. It derives a low, guttural noise from the back of Aymeric’s throat, something _primal_.

  
Knowing that his warrior had prepared himself, bent over a counter, probably having let out the most sinful noises all the while stuffing himself with his fingers and it **_not_** **_being_** **_enough_** – all just to come here and offer himself up in this way…

  
It’s that very sound that spurs the silver-haired elezen onward, encouraging Aymeric to take what he wants. His exposed cock twitches, and soon he’s sliding onto Aymeric’s lap properly. There’s no pretense with how he reaches to loosen the black slacks on Aymeric’s hips, shifting enough to help free the hardness hidden beneath the smallclothes.

“Is this what you envisioned?”

  
Aymeric questions in a tone that serves as a tell for how close his decency is to snapping. They’re able to feel every subtle movement until skin is on skin.  
There’s a slow, steady dip made in Cyril’s hips as he lets the tip of that cock tease over his hole, breaths hitching from the precum smearing from the slit. A hiss passes Aymeric’s lips, hands gripping tightly to the warrior’s bony hips, and soon he’s unable to restrain himself with how he gasps at the tightness steadily sheathing around him.

  
Cyril finds purchase in curly, black locks, completely entranced at how Aymeric has dropped his hands down further to grope on his ass. It hardly takes but a few thrusts for the harsher sounds of hips meeting to reverberate in the boundless walls of the church.

  
The remembrance of how obscene the very act is, taking place on the throne of where the knight deserved to be, and being broken apart so openly has Cyril possessed with an insatiable appetite for it. Wanting it even dirtier and hotter, he leans in to taste Aymeric’s lips and delve into his mouth with a messy kiss, withdrawing seconds later with full intent of seeing just how far he could push him.

  
“I’m yours to defile…all yours Ser Aymeric..”

  
Every day of being something to someone becomes tedious and exhausting at times. Allowing himself to be of use in a different sort of way to the one person he craves more than anything or anyone is something that has Cyril unable to think of anything else but this. He wants Aymeric to ruin him, and even more in a place such as this, as if it makes the entire thing more damning.

  
“Mm...the Warrior of Light is _mine_ to use when I please?”

  
A shudder runs down Cyril’s spine from the way that velvety voice regards him in a degrading sense. He can’t hold back the moan of the knight’s name either from how he continues.

  
“If you’re to be my whore, you’ll do as I say.” He thrusts in deep, slamming over that spot that has Cyril clinging to the black shirt on Aymeric’s chest, body completely wrecked from the hot sensations. “Now turn around on my lap. I shall put you on display for all of Ishgard to see.”

  
The proclamation is a push out of Aymeric’s comfort zone, with how the well-kept knight that can do no wrong, and is utterly prompt and prim to all. Seeing Aymeric gradually becoming feral has Cyril trembling, obeying his order, and turning so that anyone who walks through the doors can see how his cock bounces with every sharp thrust.

  
“Seven hells yes – _Ay_ - _me_ - _ric_ \- I love this-“

  
Aymeric responds in kind with a harsh tug in silver locks, pulling enough to have his breath ghosting across the elezen’s cheek.

  
“You truly are a whore aren’t you? Don’t tell me you offer your body to anyone…”

Cyril finds himself unable to respond beyond more than a moan that resembles a ‘ _no_ ’. It seems to partially placate Aymeric, the rest of his unease manifesting itself in how he bites on Cyril’s ear and growls in a commanding tone.

  
“Only I will ever see you like this. You were made for **_my_** cock and no one else’s.”

  
A rush of possessiveness is shown in how Aymeric purposefully inches a hand near his balls, very lightly cupping them. Their hips still for a moment, until Aymeric chooses to promptly push back inside, stretching him around the thickness of his cock.

  
The Holy eye of the church is forgotten with every grunt and obscenity that escapes Aymeric, forming hot breaths over Cyril’s neck, hands roaming to brush on his chest and have him arching at the way Aymeric commands his body. It’s when a hand reaches down to grip and stroke over his aching cock that he’s panting Aymeric’s name with reverence, the fucking somehow morphing into something even filthier.

  
Pleasure thrums uncontrollably so. The slickness of precum rubbing inside from how Aymeric snaps his hips upward without pause has dripped down onto his thighs, surely staining the fabric of the throne beneath. The smacking sounds grow intense from how Cyril can feel his prostate rammed over and over, and he digs his fingers hard on the arms of the throne, body completely pliant to how Aymeric uses his ass to chase that intrinsic need.

  
“Shall I mark you on the inside? You seem to want it so.” Aymeric phrases in a half-breath, though it’s not really a question with how his pace becomes erratic. It’s still laced with intent, growing stronger from how he growls Cyril’s name, breaths coming in hot and heavy against his back.

  
Part of Cyril wants someone to walk in, to see how Aymeric has spread him open for the taking. Inwardly he wants to keep this intimacy for himself though, the selfish side never wanting another soul to see how Aymeric is able to crave and dominate another person so thoroughly.

  
“Please – _I_ _need_ _it_ -“

  
Begging for something like a common whore has Cyril burning with a craving that should’ve once again filled him with shame, yet he’s almost a slave to the feeling, fucking himself on Aymeric’s cock with a desperation that is met with equal intensity. Soon thereafter nails are digging into his sides, wanting those marks just as much as the feeling of hot cum that starts to spill inside.

  
The thrusts never cease either. Cyril finds himself arched back against Aymeric’s frame, able to feel how he milks their or by pushing up against his prostate in time with the strokes made over his cock that is soaked with cum.

  
There’s a lull where the high begins to settle, and soft kisses are left on the warrior’s neck. Aymeric lets out a content sound as Cyril melts into his touches. Subtle shifts have dribbles of c leaking out, and Cyril can’t help but not want to move just yet. He doesn’t want to lose that feeling of being filled.

  
It must not go unnoticed either, not with how Aymeric practically smirks against his shoulder.

  
“I should’ve guessed your interests would be… _provocative_.”

  
“I’m surprised you agreed so easily given you have a reputation to uphold.” Cyril gives pause while rethinking his statement. “Then again so do I but…seeing you like this made it worth the risk.”

  
“I shall always oblige such requests, so long as I am the only one to have you like this.”

  
“Believe me; I wouldn’t engage in something like this so easily…not when we could’ve been caught.”

The reminder off-sets something within Aymeric, and he’s gripping onto the warrior a little too tightly again.

  
“We still could be, although I think you would rather favor that- would you not?”

It’s a simple enough accusation, but Aymeric chooses to mutter it against Cyril’s ear in an alluring sort of way.

  
Cyril shivers, somehow knowing they aren’t done with the throne just yet.


End file.
